


Kiss the Wind

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Comeplay, Hot Springs & Onsen, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Porn with Feelings, Reference to canon death of a parent, Sex Toys, communication issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7035991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obligatory hot spring/onsen episode for Finn and Poe, now with marathon sex.</p><p>
  <cite>"Man..." Finn shakes his head, a little disbelieving, a little amused. "I'm drained. <b>Literally</b> drained. And sore. How are you not sore?"</cite>
</p><p>
  <cite>"Oh, I'm sore," Poe says. He shifts and winces. "Really sore. I want --"</cite>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to aphrodite_mine, coffeeinallcaps, & artifactrix for desperately needed, very timely encouragement. This was partly inspired by an observation from cicak (about marathon sex) and a prompt from beautifullights, though the mood here (and possibly also the kink?) probably isn't _at all_ what they wanted.
> 
> Title & epigraph from Lucille Clifton, [blessing the boats](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/blessing-boats).

carry you out  
beyond the face of fear  
may you kiss  
the wind then turn from it  
certain that it will  
love your back  
....  
may you in your innocence  
sail through this to that

 

"Hey," Finn says one morning, frowning down at the new duty roster as it unspools up BB-8's display. He sits cross-legged on the unmade bed, naked, drying from the 'fresher. "I have three shifts in a row off."

"Oh?" Poe says as casually as he can. He squints into the polished metal mirror and yanks at the back of his hair again. "That's cool."

"And so do you. Same three shifts."

"You don't say."

Finn lobs a balled up sock at Poe's head. "What's going on?"

Poe doesn't turn around. "Why would I necessarily know? Why blame me immediately? Maybe the force is smiling on you for good deeds well done but rather than _accept_ it as the unexpected boon it is, you --"

Now Finn throws an empty blaster bolt at him. Poe doesn't dodge it, and it connects with his shoulder blade.

"Ow," Poe says flatly. "You beast, you monster. That could bruise."

"You are so _strange_ sometimes," Finn says, on his feet now, arms going around Poe's waist. He rests his chin on Poe's shoulder to look at his reflection. "Your hair looks fine, leave it alone."

"It's doing that sticky-uppy thing --" Poe says, then forgets to worry about it when Finn kisses his ear, then his cheek. "Oh, _man_."

"What's going on with those shifts?" 

"No fair," Poe says when Finn cups him through his thin towel. "I'd tell you anything you want to know right now, you know that."

"Anything?" Only half of Finn's face is visible behind Poe's head, but his smirk is widening.

"Shit. Almost anything."

With his other hand, Finn undoes the towel and lets it fall open. He skims the flat of his palm up the side of Poe's cock and bites down on Poe's shoulder at the same time. 

"Everything," Poe says. "Fine. I'll tell you anything."

"What's going on with those shifts?" Finn asks.

Poe opens his eyes and glares at Finn in the mirror. "Really? You've got me like this and _that's_ what you want to know? Just that?"

"Mm-hmm," Finn says, unperturbed, as he squeezes his thumb and forefinger lightly around the base of Poe's cock. "That's all I want to know."

"Fuck."

"Later." Finn loosens his grip, moving his hand up and down Poe's shaft. "Tell me first."

"Ha," Poe says. "Good one."

"Thanks," Finn replies. In the mirror, half his smile is tilting up and up. "You're a great example for terrible sex puns. I've learned everything from you."

"That," Poe says, twisting around, biting his lip for a moment at the loss of Finn's touch on his dick, then tilting Finn's shoulders, kissing him, "is the best compliment I have _ever_ gotten."

"Shifts, Poe."

Poe huffs out a sigh and rolls his forehead against Finn's clavicle. "Personal leave," he mutters.

"What's that?"

He tips back his head. "Personal leave. Thought we could, um." He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a breath, then opens them and says, quickly as he can, "take it together maybe if you wanted no pressure."

Finn's eyebrows jump as he grins, sudden and _blinding_. "Can we go somewhere?"

"Yeah, of course." Poe didn't realize he'd been nervous until now, when he is suddenly, wonderfully, relieved. "That's the idea."

*

It's not that he doubts whatever it is they have, it's just that he doesn't know how far it goes, where its boundaries are, what its extent is like. He's still figuring out what this _is_ , living on top of each other, fucking like they're both eighteen again and desperate to do it all, immediately, again and again. Those qualities, Poe's more than well-acquainted with; he's been in dorms and barracks since he was sixteen. He knows close quarters and desperate sex.

Whatever this is with Finn, though, there's something else, an extra dimension that's still unnamed, definitely uncharted.

*

Finn wants to know how he wrangled the time off. He seems to suspect that Poe did something underhanded, or vaguely shady, to make it happen. He doesn't say as much, but he's scrupulously fair.

Poe didn't do anything wrong, however. Everyone gets some personal leave, when it can be spared. Poe hasn't taken any of his for a couple years, but unfortunately, it isn't cumulative.

"I should've asked you," Poe admits on the trip over. He's flying alone; BB-8 is in for upgrades with Rey. Given the choice, he blew a raspberry and scooted over to her side _immediately_. "Maybe you had plans for yours."

Finn snorts. "Can't plan for what you don't know you have."

"Maybe you want to save it, I don't know. Go somewhere with Rey. For your birthday, maybe."

"Nah," Finn says. "Don't know when that is, either."

"Damn." It's not that Poe _forgets_ , exactly, about how bizarre Finn's past is. But he does forget, sometimes, to make room in his assumptions for the sheer extent of the bizarreness.

It's not that Finn doesn't know things; there's no catalogue you could make of Finn Ignorance. He knows a lot, and he's learning all the time, and he's just going to keep going. But the shape of his mind, sometimes, it's -- different. Like talking to BB-8 or an unfamiliar sentient. The language is the same, but the ideas, the ideas are something else.

"It's okay." Finn sounds gentle, almost apologetic. Poe hates that, when Finn takes it on himself, assumes that _he's_ the one who made a mistake. That there even _was_ a mistake. "We can call it my birthday if you want?"

Poe studies the atmospheric data, some shipping reports and mercantile chatter, then punches in updated nav info before replying. "Let's not."

"Okay?"

"It's just --" Poe turns the seat so he can see Finn. "That's your thing. Keep it."

It's not until they've landed and made it through quarantine and immunization that Finn says, quietly, "This is your thing, then? What is your thing?"

Poe doesn't answer. He shrugs, and grabs Finn's hand, but doesn't have an actual answer to give.

Finally, when they're queueing for the jitney out to the lodge, Poe says, "It's our thing, okay?"

Finn just nods. He's studying Poe's profile, but he doesn't say anything.

The lodge is nothing special, not like a resort or anything remotely glamorous. There's a big ramshackle main building constructed from the detritus of Imperial occupation, several smaller private cabins (ditto) scattered around it in a new-growth conifer forest, plus bladder-ball courts, hiking trails, and a sequence of hot springs.

"I didn't know what you'd like," Poe says after they've checked in. He could afford the smallest cabin, but just barely, and then with an advance on his salary. "So I went with what I'd like."

When he says that out loud, it sounds pretty bad.

Finn's bouncing up and down on the edge of the wide bed, looking around the plain room, smiling. "I think I like this a lot."

"Yeah? It's not fancy." There's the sleeping room, a plain 'fresher, and a tiny kitchenette. Other than the bed, the nicest and biggest thing is the window looking out into the woods. 

The spiky, needle-heavy conifers aren't anything like the huge, buxom trees at home, but just seeing a lot of trees makes him a little more relaxed.

Finn frowns at him. "Because I'm so hoity-toity, you know I expect nothing but the finest."

"Asshole," Poe says. "You know what I mean."

"That's the thing," Finn says, standing up and stretching. He bounces on his toes and lets his arms swing. "I really don't."

He doesn't seem perturbed in the least by that; he's just stating it as a fact. Now he's grinning as Poe frowns.

"You're laughing at me."

"A little, yeah," Finn says and knocks Poe on the shoulder. "Feel free to explain, I'll be all ears."

Poe pushes him back, a little harder, and Finn turns perpendicular, raising and circling his fists.

Poe spreads his arms. "You win."

"That was easy." Grinning, Finn drops his fists. "Hot spring?"

"Yes, damn. Yeah." He's been looking forward to this for so long.

Finn stops just before he gets to the door. "What happens in a hot spring?"

Now Poe's on more trustworthy ground. Explaining his world, introducing Finn to the regular things he takes for granted, this is all entirely manageable.

He talks him through the pre-spring bathing - "make sure you rinse off all the soap" - and the fact that you can walk naked between the pools. You just carry the tiny towel for wiping sweat from your face; it has nothing to do with modesty. 

_That's_ right up Finn's alley. The First Order does a number and a half on human souls, but the lack of anything close to shame is almost a gift.

The springs are bordered with smooth volcanic rocks that move in shallow steps into the water. Finn, however, crouches directly on the edge, trailing his fingers in the pool. The smile he wears is a broad, curious one, delighted by the new sensations.

"It's hot, careful --" Poe tries to say, but Finn just slides right in.

He looks up at Poe, who's still hesitating on the edge, and smiles. "It's really hot."

"Hence the name," Poe says.

"Exactly." Closing his eyes, Finn rests his head against the edge and floats. Wisps of steam, stinky with various minerals, curl up from the surface, making it look like Finn's dissolving.

When Poe gets in, much more slowly - feet, then legs up to his knees, then waist, and, finally, chest and arms - the heat flashes on his skin, pulls it taut, shrinks him a few shirt sizes. Then, as he exhales, it starts to sink in, sifting through him so slowly he could swear the sun changes position in the sky before he's all the way warm..

Finn's eyes are blissfully closed; sweat is beading his upper lip and along his hairline on his forehead. But he bobs slightly and reaches out for Poe, knocking his hand against Poe's elbow.

"There you are," Finn murmurs.

"Feeling all right?"

"This is _so_ good, man. This is amazing."

Poe sinks a little lower, so the water laps at his chin and the steam clouds his vision. Every random ache he has, each mean little knot and strain from the cockpit, is going to give in to this heat. Nothing can resist, nothing's going to stay tight and keep hurting. He just has to give it time.

Sweat slides down his face, streaking like tears. Finn's hand finds his own and grasps tightly.

"We shouldn't stay in here too long," Poe manages to say eventually.

"Aw, why not?"

"Blood pressure? Dehydration? I'm not sure. I just know you're supposed to move around."

Finn finally opens his eyes. "So we can get in another one?"

"Yeah, buddy. There are seven."

*

They do the circuit, from hot and sulfurous to salt chloride and nearly boiling, back to rust-heavy and cool and finally to one that doesn't smell like anything but fizzes constantly like a kid's soft drink.

Finn is willing to try the radioactive one. "It'll be fine, right? Just a touch. Maybe it tingles."

Poe waves him off, the bubbles trailing the motion of his hand. It feels good, looks cooler, so he does it again before he says, "All you, then. I'm not going looking for danger."

Finn flicks water at him once, then again. An attendant claps her headtails together warningly, and he waves an apology. "Sorry!" Turning back to Poe, he adds, "Live safe and cautious, huh? Since _when_?"

"It's the Dameron motto," Poe says and lies back, letting the bubbles hold him up. "Ancient and revered."

"X-Wing pilots and marines," Finn says, "definitely a long-lived, very sensible bunch."

Poe turns over so he's floating on his stomach, face in the water. The bubbles rise at him from the depths, hurrying upward, widening, ballooning, as they reach him. It's the opposite of a hyperspace jump, when the points stretch to endless lines. Here, the points swell and greet him, break against his face.

*

Before dinner, Poe finds himself trying to explain how restaurants work. As he talks and dresses, Finn's looking at him, half-smiling, his gaze open and sweet.

"So I just -- tell them what I want to eat," he says slowly. 

Poe finishes tucking in his shirt. "Simple."

" _Anything_ I want?"

Poe laughs; knowing Finn, he's thinking about comlinking Rey so they can come up with the most difficult and obscure dishes to request. "Anything on the list they'll give us."

"Right, right." Finn rolls his lips together, thinking. "And do I pay them right there? Or give you the credits and you can pay?"

"Buddy," Poe says, hand on Finn's elbow. "It's all part of the fee. Liquor's extra, probably. But the food's part of the package."

It's easy, doing this, being something like the kind and affectionate mentor. (He won't say 'dad', that's a whole other issue.) Welcome to the world, young Finn! Here it is, and I, your gracious if slightly long in the tooth host, am here to explain, acquaint, and acclimate. Explanation and introduction: it's what he does at briefings and strat-sessions. It's part of his job.

It's not him so much as something he does.

"You look great," Poe says on the short walk to the lodge. "By the way."

Finn stops, startled, and looks down. His jumper is thin and clinging, such a dark purple it could be black, and his trousers the same color, but their fabric a nubbly weave, with brighter purple ribbon down the seams. "It's Iolo's."

"Looks better on you, though."

Finn looks at him, squinting for a moment, then shrugs. "Thanks. It's really soft."

Poe rests his hand on the small of Finn's back, as if to test the claim, then leaves it there. Finn shoots him a look before grinning, shaking his head a little. He moves slightly out of reach, then grabs Poe's hand, lacing up their fingers and squeezing.

"Better," he says quietly.

"Yeah," Poe agrees.

They eat too much at dinner - more fish, Poe thinks, than he's had in the rest of his life put together, and certainly more flavors than Finn's had in one sitting. Finn further demolishes both of their desserts and the strange, mild cheese that rounds out the meal.

After dinner, they check out the bar and games room. Another echoing space, clearly a former TIE-hangar, it's now crowded with comfortable seating and several generations' worth of analog and droid-powered games.

Finn befriends a family of Garudae, three parents with their two hatchlings. The little ones crawl all over him, trailing drool, tugging on his arms and hair and nose, scratching him with their pinfeathers, while he chats with the parents about short-haul import/export shipping and subluminal transport routes.

Their cover here is flimsy: Finn's a recent engineering graduate (he wanted poetry, but it would have required too much preparation) and Poe's a military historian. 

Poe doesn't say much. It's almost as if he's still in one of the springs, bobbing just below the surface, so warm and loose that he can't, quite, bring himself to language, let alone speech.

The male parent offers him a drink - Corellian brandy isn't something you turn down, ever - and Poe repays the favor. They sit in companionable silence while Finn wrestles the kiddoes on the floor and the two female parents interrogate him about his own plans for the future.

Finn takes their questioning seriously, sitting up, letting the littler one slide down his back, then scramble back up, over and over.

"Keeping my options open," he tells them, grabbing the older kid as it dashes past, then tossing it up into the air as it squeals. "You know how it is."

"Playing the field?" one of the parents says.

Finn nods, tickling the older one. "Something like that."

Poe takes the last sip of brandy.

"You make an excellent parental person," the other female tells him.

Finn grins up at them, then, one kid under each arm, jumps to his feet to spin them around and around. He doesn't stumble once. "X-Wing! Dogfight! Get 'em, get the Order good!"

They shriek and make pew-pew sounds, but the male parent sits up straighter, beak clacking shut. The females mutter to each other, reaching for the kids, and with an apologetic half-explanation - we're a **Republic** family, sorry \- they're gone.

"Damn," Finn says, hands empty at his sides, looking at the door. 

*

The stars overhead on the walk back to their cabin are unfamiliar. The sky is cluttered with them, riotous. It's so quiet here, it's almost as if they shine all the brighter for it.

"Playing the field, huh?" Poe asks, kicking through the blankets of needles on the path.

Finn snorts. " _Something like that_ , I said."

"It's all right," Poe says, lightly, elbowing him. "You keep playing, I like to watch."

Finn shoulders past him, laughing a little. "Is that what you call it?"

"I'm a keen observer," Poe protests, punching Finn's arm, shuffling, circling; he gets in another good hit on Finn's back before Finn dodges, ducks, and gets him around the waist, tipping him up and over his shoulder. "For example, right now, I'm _observing_ that you're winning."

"Damn right," Finn says, biting Poe's hip, the exposed skin between his belt and the hem of his shirt. Poe kicks a little in mock-protest, then slips down the length of Finn's torso. He loops his arms around Finn's neck and stays close, mouth right on his throat.

"Want to fuck you out here," Poe says, and Finn groans, " _so much_. But I also don't want Iolo killing me for messing up his good civvies."

Finn runs his hands down Poe's back and nuzzles the skin behind his ear. "It's a dilemma."

"Agonizing," Poe says, kissing him quickly, then grabbing his hand and dragging him double-time the rest of the way to the cabin.

Once inside, he concentrates on getting Finn out of Iolo's clothes, getting them safely stowed away, getting Finn back on the bed, almost all the way naked. He's kissing Finn, hands roving restlessly, butting against him, breathing hard.

Finn tries to slow them down. He gets that serious look, and holds Poe's head between his hands, _peers_ at him. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Poe says, hands still in motion, petting Finn, pinching him, sweeping over muscle and nipple, hip and rib. Belly, groin. "Want you. Want _this_."

Finn's laughing as he kisses Poe, one hand still on his cheek, fingers in his hair, the other dropping heavily into Poe's lap, palm, then heel, rubbing his erection until Poe's hardly kissing any more, just opening his mouth to spit and air, going up on his knees, pushing Finn back and clambering on top.

Finn keeps laughing, the sound and vibrations slower but no less delighted, wrapping one arm around Poe's waist, palming his ass, hauling him closer.

Poe wants everything to be this easy, this straightforward. Not simple, but clear and right. Finn, licking his lips, looking up at him, radiant and joyful, holding him close and tight enough to bruise.

Their hips are rocking together; Finn runs his fingertips up Poe's spine, back down, and keeps smiling. His laughter's silent now, swamped by breathlessness, accelerating need, but it's not _gone_. It's never gone, not really.

"What're you thinking?" he asks, and presses his thumb between Poe's eyebrows, smoothing out the wrinkle. 

"I want --" Poe kisses him again. "I need you to fuck me."

Finn's eyes go wide, but then he's nodding, faster, enthusiastically. Laughter's warming, soaking, every word he says. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

"Just -- however you want it, I don't care. Fast and crazy-hard, pound it --" When Poe breaks off, clearing his throat, Finn smiles, doubtful at first, then squeezes shut his eyes, presses his face against Poe's arm and _trembles_ for half a second. When he looks back up, lower lip fully caught between his teeth, his gaze soft, Poe swallows and continues, "Or slow and break-y, that's good, too, that's great. I just --"

"Yeah," Finn says, more quickly than Poe expected. He has both hands on Poe's hips, already pulling him down, holding him. "You need it."

There's something about how he says that, but mostly it's _that_ he says that, that makes Poe clutch, expand, yearn all the more, but less desperately. He's getting it, he's about to get it, it's going to be --.

There's that dumb, poorly planned pause where they have to shift around, find the slick, kiss some more, and it's _endless_. Finally, forever and a half a moment later, Poe's straddling Finn again, kissing him deep and slow even as he rocks hard against Finn's fingers, bearing down, spreading, opening right up. His cock is riding Finn's chest; it jumps, shudders, when Finn leans a little back and pushes inside, clasping Poe's hip with slicked-up fingers.

"Faster," Poe tells him, and Finn shakes his head. _He knows what he's doing, leave him be_ ; but Poe _can't_ , he sucks on the hollow of Finn's throat and pushes back, drops down around the burn, right into it, and then Finn's _really_ grabbing him, holding him still, his eyes big as saucers as he slips, slow and friction-hot, the rest of the way inside. His cock shoves the air out of Poe's lungs and empties his spine, and then he moves, almost languorously, rolling up inside Poe, smiling at him, _kissing_ him again.

The air is thin, his mouth is cracked. Poe tips a little forward, brings Finn with him, gets the friction sped up and Finn thrusting deep.

He wants to say _more_ , and _faster_ , and _please_ , but he doesn't need to. Finn's hands on his hips move and tilt and cant him, push him away, haul him back, and somehow he ends up on his back, one leg over Finn's shoulder, the other around Finn's waist, and Finn's fucking _up_ into him, holding Poe's ass and half his back in his lap.

He's closer than ever, snapping forward, driving Poe up the bed until his head's knocking the wall and the bed is pushing away. Poe grabs at Finn's arms - elbows - shoulders, can't find purchase, has to settle for holding onto Finn's wrists, using him as leverage to lift up into his thrusts. Finn's tongue is caught in his teeth, his gaze intent and almost fierce, but never less than beautiful, _kind_ , somehow, always, and when Poe looks away, closes his eyes, Finn grunts more loudly, says his name.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm --"

"Is this --" Finn drops his head back for a moment, his chin bouncing up at the ceiling as he speeds up, and then, his face swings back into view, his hands running up Poe's sides, pushing his arms over his head, bending until his mouth is on Poe's chest, his chin, throat. "This is right? This is what you need?"

"Fuck," Poe says, lifting up again, tightening his thighs around Finn. "Yes. _Yes_."

Finn grabs Poe's wrist, drops his hand in his crotch. "I, I. Can you come for me? On me?"

He's not _ashamed_ , but he is shy, and courteous, and it makes Poe harder than ever, sends flames skittering out over what's left of his skin. "Yeah. Yeah."

It takes fewer than twenty strokes, his hand slippery on his sticky cock, Finn's eyes drinking him in, Finn _fucking_ him harder than ever, and when Poe comes, filling up with burned-out light, flopping, jamming himself down on Finn, splattering his chest with come, Finn's back arches. He pulls all the way out, makes Poe _howl_ for half a moment, then turns him bodily over, folds himself over Poe's back and fucks back inside.

His mouth is on Poe's ear, one hand on Poe's waist, the other on Poe's arm, and he's apologizing, or explaining, something entirely unnecessary as he stuffs himself deeper yet, shaking, shivering, coming with a cyclonic moan that pierces Poe's skull, blows away all his thoughts. 

They're both trembling, exertion and something else making every minute movement blindingly pleasurable and a little achey. Somehow they roll on their sides, Finn plastered down, around, Poe, still buried inside.

Soon enough, he tries to pull away, making noises about washing up.

"Stay," Poe says and crosses his arms over Finn's.

Finn's chuckle rumbles in his ear and against his back. "Don't you want to clean up?"

"Not yet." Poe clenches lightly around Finn's softening dick and sighs. "Just. Stay."

"Yeah, okay," Finn says, tipping his face against the side of Poe's neck. He breathes in and out, gustily, then more quietly. "You okay?"

"No, man, I'm great. That's why you're _staying_." 

"Got it." Finn wiggles somehow closer, slipping his arm further down until it's resting over Poe's waist. His dick twitches and Poe has to shiver around it. "I'm staying."

"Good."

"Great."

"Splendid."

"Am I allowed to go get a thesaurus?" Finn asks and maybe Poe's imagining it, but he could swear he feels Finn's smile curve against his neck.

Poe tips his head back and nips on the side of Finn's jaw. Drying sweat is going sticky on both of them. He tastes rank and delicious. "No, you're _staying_."

"Right, sorry."

"Should be."

Finn slides his hand up and down Poe's chest and nudges his knee between Poe's. "How can I ever make it up to you?"

Poe rubs his cheek against the mattress and squeezes a couple times around Finn's soft cock. "You know how."

"Man --" Finn laughs again, and the shivers _ripple_ across Poe's skin and through his nerves. He wants to giggle, and gasp, and shake, all at once, in response. "Give me some time."

"You're young," Poe tells him and scratches his nails down Finn's forearm, then pinches his wrist. "Refract. Now."

"I'll see what I can do."

"That's all I ask," Poe says and his eyes are drifting closed. He yawns, enormously, and hears his jaw crack. "Do your best. I know you'll come through."

"I appreciate your faith in me."

"No problem," Poe murmurs, still smiling, not sure if he can stop, not that he wants to.

Finn mouths the nape of Poe's neck, soft lips, wet tongue, then sucks on the edge of his hair, runs his teeth up along Poe's hairline. Everything is so slow, drawn out, _extended_. Running with honey, warm and sticky, the weight of Finn's limbs, the heat of their skin adhering, the occasional throb and the constant pressure of him still inside Poe. He wants to freeze the moment, but he doesn't have to, nothing's changing very much at all, certainly not very quickly.

*

"Are you asleep?" Finn whispers a while later. The light is slanting differently when Poe opens his eyes.

He flutters his hole and burrows backward against Finn.

Finn exhales a laugh. "Can't tell if that's a yes, a no, or a 'shut up'."

Poe pulls Finn's hand up to his mouth and kisses the palm.

"All right," Finn says. "Got it."

He's getting harder inside Poe, slowly at first, then, when Poe works back and around him, quickly.

" _Really?_ " Finn asks.

"Yeah," Poe says. "Do it. Go for it."

"But --"

He switches his hips back and forth as best he can, reaching back to pull Finn over him. "C'mon."

"Poe, you're full of --"

He looks over his shoulder. "Ready to go, prelubed."

Finn stares, maybe at him, maybe away. It's hard to tell in the dark. But he scrapes his nails up Poe's back to grab at his shoulder. "Damn. Yeah, okay."

"Good."

"Hard this time," Finn whispers roughly. "Going to fuck you _hard_."

"Yeah," Poe says, and he's about to continue, but Finn's already pulling him up by the hips, pushing at his legs until his knees bend, and _moving_ , so all that comes out of Poe's mouth is a lot of air like a whinny.

Finn yanks him higher, thrusting upward, short then long, and he's never done it like this before, so fast and _full_ right from the start. Poe can't breathe all the way, he's filling up with jolts and zig-zags of heat and need. When he shoves back, twisting to try to catch a glimpse, Finn's grunts stutter a little, and he pulls on a handful of Poe's hair, grinning, then thrusting harder, then harder yet.

Sometimes he says something, but it's noise more than anything, or Poe's name, which itself is just noise, just the one syllable. Nonsense.

When Poe starts to flop down - he can't help it, there's nothing but heat inside him now and he's like rag already - Finn wraps his arm around his waist and holds him up, fingers digging in, cock pushing deeper.

Poe stretches for it, lets the movement crowd out most of his thoughts, takes big gulps of breath whenever he can.

"Want this," Finn's saying, "want _you_ , get inside you --"

Poe starts to laugh at that - where do you think you **are** , pal? \- but Finn bites his shoulder and he shuts up.

" _Inside_ you, crawl up under your skin, fuck you, wear you like armor, _fuck_."

"Finn --"

"Feel you, I want --"

"You can, you _are_."

"Stop it, stop talking to me like --" That's a tone Finn sometimes lets slip, frustrated, nearly overcome with it, but it's about _Poe_ now and he doesn't know what to say, what he did.

"But --"

"I know, I _know_." Finn shakes him, impatiently, and shoves in. "Want more. _Poe_."

"Anything," Poe says.

Finn grinds his hips in a circle, almost whining, then thrusts so hard that Poe's head bounces off the mattress. "You always say that, you believe it but --"

"Mean it."

"I know. I _want_ \--"

"Harder," Poe tries. His confusion extends beyond the regular sex-addled state. Finn's saying _something_ , trying to get a point across, but for the life of him, Poe's not getting it right. "Take it, you can have it. All yours."

Finn's breathing is wet, almost weepy, as his hips snap and grind, his hands slipping off Poe. Teeth on Poe's neck, his back. "More."

"All of it," Poe tells him.

Finn sucks in a breath, wheezing, and doesn't let it out as he stills, swells, and when he comes, it's a hard pulse so deep inside, _up_ , Poe that the burn flares to lightning.

He does exhale, later, he must, because he lies there, sprawled against Poe, panting hard for a long time. Every time Poe tries to shift, even just turn his head, try to _see_ , Finn holds him tighter to keep him still. He stays inside, just like that, without being asked, his cock still thrumming, even squirming, occasionally. 

They should probably talk about _that_ conversation, whatever that was. If it even was something. Maybe, at some point. Later.

Poe bears down on him, twitches his hips a little, stokes the burn just enough to get a vague, very dry, orgasm running in shredded ribbons through him, just this side of painful.

He arches with it, mouth open and dry, enough that Finn almost slips out. Just the head's still in when Poe catches it, rocks back and finds Finn rocking up to meet him, pushing back inside. There's a squelch, an insistent _fill_ and shift of come, and Poe tucks himself against Finn, folding himself up, holding it all in.

*

They doze again, waking to lavender light and sticky, sour mouths. Finn twitches and tics inside Poe, then freezes, like he just got caught doing something wrong.

"Stay in?" Poe asks, then says it again. "Stay in."

"Yeah," Finn says. "Staying."

He might fuck him a third time; Poe doesn't entirely remember. He might dream it, a deep slow rock, tongue in his ear, fingers, then their nails, on his nipples, a loose hold on his own cock. Sleepy and full, another helping just because.

*

The next time he stirs, Finn's still inside him. There's a sticky, wet sense hovering around him, his crack and hole, but Poe squeezes gently, trying another angle, and gets a nice, sleepy moan from Finn.

A little later, Finn wakes for real, smacking his lips, tightening his arm around Poe rib-cracklingly hard.

"I really do have to get up," Finn murmurs. Hand on Poe's shoulder, he presses Poe down, kisses the nape of his neck, and shushes him. "Don't worry, I got you. Don't move."

The way he pulls out is more like the memory of such a movement, old and softened by time, a sigh and wheeze rather than groan and grunt. Poe sighs along with the motion; Finn pats his back gently and shushes him again.

There are the sounds of Finn rustling in their bags. 

Poe lifts his head, blinking a lot, confused. "What're you doing?"

Finn's squatting below the window, digging in his satchel. He's _naked_ , gloriously so, naked as anything, morning light spilling down his back and side, over his ribs and along his thighs. He's been touching Poe all night long (to put it mildly), but this is the first time Poe has _seen_ him, all of him, in hours.

He glances up, grinning at Poe. "Ssh, man. I got this."

Poe can't argue. He doesn't want to, but he also, simply, can't. Every nerve in his body is glowing with a low, warm light as a sluggish, syrupy warmth pumps through him, slower than his heartbeat but just as steady, just as deep, just as endless. He pillows his head on his arm and breathes. The image of Finn's body hovers behind his lids in glowing calligraphic strokes.

"Hey," Finn says, kneeling on the bed, one hand on Poe's thigh. "You there?"

"Here," Poe says and smiles. His head's too heavy to lift, but he can turn, find Finn with his eyes. "What are you up to?"

"This." Finn squeezes one ass-cheek and adds, "just relax, okay?"

"Way ahead of you on that."

"Good." 

Finn's fingertips brush the small of Poe's back, so lightly he shivers in response, then down his crack. His skin warms again, or Finn's touch reminds him of the warmth that's already there, maybe both. When Finn parts his cheeks, running the pad of his thumb down his crack, around his hot-achey hole, Poe shudders and hears himself make a noise that's half-sigh, half-moan. Finn chuckles a little at that, then adds a finger alongside his thumb; Poe takes a breath, lets it out, and it pools across his chin as something blunt nudges his hole, enters him. Not Finn, nothing human.

"There," Finn says, and pats him again before getting up. "That'll keep everything in place."

Poe reaches behind him, gingerly poking himself, and finds the flat, broad base of one of their toys. He squeezes around it and that good old burn ramps up.

He doesn't remember packing anything. He has a decent collection, but it always feels like too much trouble once things get going to stop, dig a toy out, then work with it. 

"Where'd you get this?" he asks, but Finn must already be in the 'fresher.

He breathes in and out into the mattress. He can smell his own sweat, and Finn's, clinging to every pore.

"Are you coming?" Finn calls from the fresher. 

"Oh," Poe says. "Right. Yeah."

"You don't have to --"

He wants to; he'd rather be near Finn than away. It's just a matter of figuring out how to move.

Sitting up is a slow process, careful and deliberate; all the come inside him squishes slightly as he pulls himself upright. He's never been quite so aware of this aspect of his body before - its capacity, the stretch and fill of liquid - and he has to keep pausing to note it, feel it again, experience it. 

It's not liquid, actually. It's a creeping thickness, viscous, as warm as the rest of him, but slowly, so slowly, mobile. When he steps onto the floor and straightens up, it shifts with him and reminds him of gravity - sort of like when he steps off the X-Wing, that first moment when his muscles remember what it is to stand and his toes have to consciously be relaxed.

Now he's remembering that his body is porous, his skin is complicated; it runs inside, folds up, opens and closes.

He moves forward with a rolling stride, savoring the ache and burn as well as the strange, gradual shift and settling inside.

Finn already has the 'fresher running. He's a blur behind steam; the water smells like one of the springs, a little metallic, a little more green. Poe slides across the damp floor, one hand on the wall; the plug slips a little and he freezes, clenching.

Finn cocks his head and takes Poe's free hand. "You live, you breathe."

"In a manner of speaking," Poe says, tipping against Finn, the water running down his back. 

Finn wraps his arm around Poe's waist and sluices the soap down his side, drawing up suds that rinse away almost immediately. It's a leisurely, almost dreamy motion, up and down, round and round, as he turns Poe around, rubbing him clean, paying extra attention to the hickeys and bruises spotting him front and back.

"Sorry," Finn murmurs every so often, glancing up, water beading on the tips of his eyelashes. 

"Nah," Poe says, and spreads his stance a little, concentrating on grasping at the plug and exhaling slowly. "Worth it."

Finn straightens up, leaving his hand on Poe's shoulder. His expression is careful, almost evaluating.

"I've had much worse from a shit landing," Poe points out. "And those aren't nearly as much fun."

"All right," Finn says, but he still sounds so _careful_.

"What you need to do," Poe adds, maybe a little too quickly, "is explain the fucking _butt plug_ you just happened to pack."

Snorting, Finn just grins at him, one shoulder lifting up. "I thought --" He glances away, sketching loops in the condensation on the wall, then back. "You like it, though."

"Yeah," Poe says, crowding against him, into the corner, fumbling behind him for the water control. He kisses Finn, hand on his side, squeezing, pulling himself up as close as he can get. "Yeah, I like."

"Good." Finn leans into him, trails his teeth up Poe's jaw. "I like, too."

It's quieter without the water, but every other sound is louder now, the slap of wet skin on skin, bumps and jostles, sighs, grunts. Poe can hear himself think, which is usually not an optimal state, all things considered. Finn kisses him, moving against him. He keeps squeezing, pulsing, around the plug, getting reminded of all the ways in and out, soft and strong, within him, and he realizes something. 

It's not an _epiphany_ or anything so much as a mental image: Finn, alone in his bunk with slick and plug, wearing that thoughtful, _studious_ expression he gets, using it on himself. Working himself down on it from a crouch, or working it into himself while on his back. Lip caught in his teeth, eyes gone narrow and tight, _working_ it.

"What color is it?" Poe gets out, his fingers slipping off Finn, then catching, and his nails digging in. He's back against the wall, slowly rubbing his ass against it, the plug nudging a little deeper. 

"What?"

"The plug," Poe says. "What color is it?"

"Red," Finn replies. "What? _Why?_ "

The way his palm fits over the rise of Finn's ass isn't magic, it's just physical adjustment, but Poe would like to think it's _meaningful_. He squeezes in counterpoint to what he's doing on the plug and kisses Finn again. "Just picturing you using it. Need details."

Tipping his head against wall, groaning, Finn clutches at Poe's shoulder. 

"Thought so," Poe says, obscurely satisfied. He pinches Finn's chin and waits until, shivering a little, Finn opens his eyes. "Let's get out of here."

Finn presses him back into the wall again, hands on the knobs of Poe's shoulders, and kisses open his mouth, deliberately, almost but not quite softly, until Poe shivers, too. "Where're we going?"

"I --" Poe shakes his head. "I don't know, I just --"

"Right, it's okay." Finn walks them out of the 'fresher, grabbing towels along the way, and gets them back to the bed. He wraps one towel around his waist, and gives Poe the other one. "What's it like? Inside? The...stuff."

Leaning over, the plug moving a little ways out, Poe scrubs his legs dry, then sits back up and pulls it back inside. He shrugs and says, "I don't know. Squishy?"

Finn's nose wrinkles up, but then he smiles. "Squishy."

"Kind of...thick," Poe adds. "Wet. Squishy. These are all highly scientific terms."

Nodding, Finn looks Poe over, lap to chest to face, and stays there, studying him. "All mine."

It's a question, and it isn't. It's the come, and it's Poe.

"Yeah." Poe makes himself keep his eyes on Finn. "Exactly."

He makes a long, windy sound at that, still looking at Poe, eyes wet and gentle. 

They stay quiet, and still, long enough to dry off, and then longer. Poe doesn't know how to wait, not without purpose or stress, and he doesn't feel time passing. Just knows that it does.

"What do you want to do now?" Finn asks at last.

"We could fuck," Poe says. He's still hoarse, and now he has to cough.

"Man..." Finn shakes his head, a little disbelieving, a little amused. "I'm _drained_. Literally drained. And sore. How are you not sore?"

"Oh, I'm sore," Poe says. He shifts and winces. "Really sore. That's --. I want --"

"Huh," Finn says, as if that answers some question he had. "Shouldn't we eat at some point? I want to eat."

Poe nods. Finn's _right_ , but. Panic clutches and flares at the idea of leaving, taking it out, _changing_. "I could go to the dining room with this in?"

Finn smiles at that. "Hot as that idea is - and it's really hot --"

"Yeah," Poe says, and while he's not sure why he's agreeing, there is something off about the proposal. "I'm being stupid, sorry." He scrubs his hair back off his face. "I don't know what's --"

"Hold that thought --" Finn's sliding off the bed, heading for the 'fresher. He reappears almost immediately with a small towel in hand, detours to his bag again, and then, tossing the towel at Poe, he's climbing back onto the bed. "Okay. Lie back."

"Finn --"

"Ssh," Finn says, like it's just that simple, as he eases open Poe's legs. Fuck, he really is sore. The muscles in his thighs protest; even his _feet_ hurt a little, right on the edge of cramping. He hisses when Finn lifts his right leg and leans in with it draped around his waist. "You okay?"

"I'm here," Poe says. 

"That's a start," Finn says. "Can you lift up for me? Just for a second."

Concentrating hard, holding his breath, Poe lifts his ass up and Finn slides a pillow underneath, then grabs the towel from Poe's hand and pushes that in, too. When Poe lowers himself, Finn moves with him, knuckles brushing the very top of his inner thighs. 

"I'm going to take it out," Finn whispers. Poe opens his mouth to -- protest? Agree? He doesn't know, and Finn's kissing him anyway, turning the base around, easing it out so slowly that there's hardly any friction. It's nothing like someone pulling out after fucking. It's a loss, though, and there's a gape, an emptiness, in him. About him.

"I --" Poe starts to say, not at all sure where he's going. His mouth is open, his hole is open. Absent.

Finn kisses him again, a brush of lips and dip of tongue, as he moves his fingers inside. Poe can't tell how many, or how few, there are; usually he can. Everything's different now, stretched and open, squelchy, _oozing_. When he tries to turn his face away, Finn clicks his tongue against his teeth and stops him.

"This is gross, man," Finn says, but he sounds far from disgusted. Amused, definitely, slightly surprised. "Wow."

"I'm..."

"No, it's okay, I'm just talking." He rocks his hand inside Poe a little faster. "How's that?"

He's sore, this deep ache, radiating far and hot, that combines with a surface rawness, one redoubling the other. It might not make any sense, but he's slightly inside-out as well. Exposed, certainly.

"Good?" Poe asks. He doesn't know. It's not bad, far from it. "Good."

Finn kisses his throat, up the side of his neck, over to his mouth, and Poe wraps his arms around him, his other leg, rocking into Finn's hand, then up to his mouth, back and forth.

"You're going to talk to me after, okay?" Finn says and kisses him more deeply before Poe can answer. He twists his fingers, spreads them inside, sharpens the angle, and Poe fucks back, hips working without conscious thought, as he tightens his hold and bites against Finn's kiss. 

He comes, or thinks he does, probably does, with Finn murmuring at him, comes around Finn's hand and against his belly, pressed back into the bed and held fast. Comes with a bruised-up mouth, yowling breathlessly, comes into Finn's kiss, shudders apart.

"There you are," Finn says, later, when Poe opens his eyes. He snaps off the glove Poe didn't know he was wearing before stroking the corner of the towel along Poe's thighs, cleaning him up. "Welcome back."

*

They eat breakfast, whatever's left in the buffet just before the dining room closes, dried-out porridge and slightly damp husks of bread, sticky jam from local fruit neither has heard of, roasted fish that's more flake than flavor. He sits gingerly, on the edge of the chair, one ass cheek almost off the surface.

Poe's starving. Finn laughs at him, at his surprise at this fact.

"Easy for you," Poe mutters, "you're _always_ hungry."

"It's true," Finn says and steals the last roll from the edge of Poe's plate, stuffing it into his mouth before Poe can protest. He chews theatrically, extravagantly, somehow beaming at the same time.

*

Afterward, when Poe turns to head back to their cabin, Finn redirects him toward the springs. 

"Heard they're good for muscle soreness," he says innocently in the changing room. "Skin irritations, too." He raises his eyebrows and adds, in a husky voice, " _inflammation_ , that kind of thing."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" 

Finn folds up his trousers and places them carefully in the basket on top of his shoes and shirt. "Am I?"

It takes Poe twice as long to strip - he _just_ got dressed, this is ridiculous - and he's aware of every requisite motion in each muscle fiber. He picks his way down the path after Finn - who's strolling, _whistling_ and snapping his towel against his leg in time with the song - like an old man.

The water slips over him, however, like it's welcoming him. Poe floats on his back, watching the steam rise and break against the purple sky and sharp, waving tips of the trees. 

Finn reclines against the edge, elbows up on the rock and his head tipped back, towel on his forehead. 

You can't quite swim in the spring; it's too hot and the water's almost heavy against you. But Poe makes his way back over, watching his legs trail behind him, pale in the dark water, almost tendril-like, something broken.

Finn's still humming when Poe bumps against his side and settles next to him.

They're in the shade here, so while the water is hot, the air is cool. Shed needles are scattered over the rocks, adhering to Finn's arms, even his cheek. He opens his eyes and smiles so gently it could hurt.

"Talk," Finn says.

Poe looks back up into the sky. Light, trees, glare. "It's my mom's birthday."

He says it, and it's not so bad. Not at first.

Finn doesn't freeze, or panic, or throw his arms around Poe and cling tight. 

Poe glances at him; his whole face softens, shimmers, losing some surface tension. Then Poe blinks several times, and Finn is back to normal, peering at Poe, running his palm up and down Poe's forearm. In and out of the water, sending up waves that hurry out past them.

"Well. Yesterday, now," Poe says and clears his throat.

Finn grasps Poe's elbow now, and tugs at him, then harder, until Poe half-tips, half-collapses against him. "You should've told me."

"I just did."

Finn's arm goes around him, and he pinches Poe, _hard_. "You know what I meant."

"Yeah." He clears his throat again. "I thought I was going to be okay."

"Liar." Finn's palm comes down, curving, over Poe's forehead, then brushes back into his hair.

"Yeah." Poe nudges into the touch, then sinks down, lets the water cover his face for a moment. When he emerges, he says, "not -- not on purpose."

Finn makes a quiet little sound, impatient, the sub-verbal equivalent to no shit. From this angle, Finn's shoulders and head are enormous, imposing, statuary from a lost civilization curving in the light. Then he glances down, smiling, and he's human again. 

"I'm older now," Poe starts to say. He stops, purses his lips, as something chilled and gritty, old frost and gravel, drains through him. "Older than she ever got to be."

Finn rubs his thumb through one of Poe's eyebrows, then the other, like he's trying to get dirt off a kid's face.

"I don't know _shit_ ," Poe says. Finn's hand molds itself along his cheek, thumb on his chin now, rasping the stubble. "Nothing."

He looks at Finn, sees him back on the _Finalizer_ , on D'Qar, one solitary soul striding forward. He just keeps _going_ , always will, like courage is the most natural thing in the galaxy.

"Nothing, huh?" Finn's frown is exquisite, curvaceous, and complicated. 

"Hardly anything," Poe replies. 

Finn pulls him up a little out of the water, into the cooler air, holding him with his arm around Poe's chest. He presses his cheek against Poe's neck.

"Tell me what you do know," Finn says. No, that was a question. "Tell me?"

Always a question. Finn doesn't command anything; he demands even less. He asks, invites, investigates, keeps going. He gets everything, all of it, what little Poe has to give, and then some.

"Binary, classic and contemporary." Poe closes his eyes. "How to fly. Combination to my storage locker. Resistance security codes. Birthdays. You not having a birthday."

Finn inhales and the water moves with it, bumps Poe closer against him.

"You," Poe says. "And you."


End file.
